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Topic: Following the Trail (Read 5311 times)

Corwynn looked at Jarmok quizzically. Mirak cocked his head and raised his eyebrow in his recollections at Jarmok’s proclamation. “Ah yes!” the giant guard exclaimed nodding his head. “Your little halfling friend went out not long ago. Charming fellow he is…good sense of humor.”

“Alright, alright…can’t let you lunks scare the man away.” the duke stated. “We’ll be out for a time to my thinking spot and back before the food gifting. If we’re not back by then, you know what to do. Try not to let the place burn down in the meantime, eh?” he said with a playful wink. He then motioned for Mirak, the presumptive leader of these massive men, to step away with him.

As the two we’re speaking with each other off to the side (OOC: Yes, if you wish to make a Listen check you’re free to do so) the closest guard, Sven, by Jarmok’s memory, looked at Jarmok approvingly and asked, “So, how do you find your time in the city?”.

Jarmok cocked his head slightly, indicating his relative lack of decision. "Not see much yet." He agreed with Varhuk. "But miss home. Miss mountains and trees." He shrugged then, and added, "Not made for city."

The three large men looked at each other with a common understanding as though Jarmok had said something that they also felt in their hearts.

Sven pursed his lips and nodded his head. “Aye, we understand what you mean. Our clan was from the mountains but was driven out by the giants from Fomor. Perhaps we might see a holiday in Threshold though.”

Jarmok could see that Mirak and Corwynn were heading back to the group while finishing up their private conversation. Varhuk decided to address the question of Laren, “I believe your friend said he was going to the library.” he said with a shrug.

“Well, Jarmok, are you ready to get out of the city? I imagine just being around these fleshy walls…” the duke said playfully while glancing at the four giants “…would make you claustrophobic if the stone walls haven’t already.” Corwynn gave a hard scratch behind Fionndougal’s ear and tousled the shock of white hair that hung down the noble horses forehead. He secretly believed that he would soon see what a warrior this horse was sooner than later. The “dark stranger” would soon come to know dark strangers.

“Mind the place men…enjoy the peace.” The duke said with tint of a warning.

Jarmok eyed the stone walls warily, and the flesh ones somewhat more comfortably. His logic waged a small argument with his viscera: something inside of him wanted to trust these four men immediately, but his tendency, born of his relatively short history, prevented him from becoming too comfortable with them so quickly. Men were very good at hiding who they were.

"Hrung." Jarmok grunted his assent to the Arch Duke. "Kossuth soon." He observed, then addressed the three giants once again, saying, "Good meet. See again, should." He bobbed his head to each man in turn as he followed Corynn's lead.

The Duke walked with Jarmok at a brisk pace and spied that Jarmok had little, if any, trouble keeping up. In fact, he noticed that Jarmok could out pace him. Not with his stride- for Jarmok’s stride was certainly not longer than Corwynn’s- but with his sheer speed in self locomotion. A speedy ranger Jarmok must be he thought, truly a tenacious adversary in the forest or anywhere for that matter.

“Those four guards, men, if you will take my meaning…” the Duke’s words hung in the air as his thoughts trailed away. He continued to walk absentmindedly it seemed though Jarmok could see that his mind was anything but blank. “…they are very loyal to me…my family and I to them. My family’s bond with their clan stretches back for many generations…back to when the Valley was in Darkness.” Corwynn looked to Jarmok with a nod and a smile. The tall Duke’s stride began to hasten as he noticed the sky lighten in it’s indigo and purple shade.

It was just about all that Jarmok could do to keep from breaking into a run. He was already feeling a bit closer to home, having gotten out of that keep...or castle (he really couldn't tell which it might have been; what might be the difference? He wondered).

He concentrated on not outpacing the Arch Duke and listened to the rather un-pointed musings of his new associate.

"Hgn. Long time." He acknowledged Corwynn's comment. He picked up his own pace to keep as much shoulder-to-shoulder with the Arch Duke as possible.

The look of the city changed as Jarmok and the Duke traveled the streets. Around the keep seemed obviously well kept and polished. As the two ventured further out away from the keep the city looked more as how people really lived. Not dirty or smelly but more as lived in house- less showy and more comfortable.

Soon the western gate came in to view. Corwynn could feel Jarmok’s anticipation for passing beyond and into the open field and road. He truly sympathized with the out-of-place ranger as he often wished to ride beyond the gates more than he had in recent months.

A contingent of guards had gathered at the gate and all were dressed similarly. They were in a formation and there was one dressed in finer armor marching back and forth performing an inspection. Even from this distance Jarmok could see a shock of long red hair flowing in the breeze. The voice was stern and commanding and offered no sympathy. “Oh those poor souls. My daughter’s gotten a hold of them. Paladine help them if they so much as blink too loudly or clear their throat.” The duke chuckled to Jarmok.

“Look lively soldiers! Your Arch-Duke approaches!” the woman called out to the garrison. Upon seeing Corwynn they all stood a little straighter and saluted in unison. Corwynn mounted Fionndougal and saluted back. “Fine looking troops we have here, Bridget” Corwynn commented knowing full well that addressing her by her name in front of the troops would annoy her. “And fine troops they will stay if I have anything to say of it, Dad.” Bridget remarked back with a wink and a brogue that Jarmok couldn’t help but notice.

“Ride well or stay off the horse, Dad.” the young woman said as she leaned towards her father. She looked to be of the same age as Kym Wolfjaw and no doubt was friends with her given the prestige of each family. In a voice that could only be heard by Corwynn and Jarmok she asked, “Out to the cabin, eh?”

“Yes, I have things to discuss with our friend here and I need to get us out of the keep before we both go outside our minds.” The woman spied Jarmok and held out her hand in greetings, “Welcome to Kurr good sir. I hope that we may become better acquainted before you return south.” Looking back at her father she playfully commanded, “Get thee gone sir…and be quick of it.”

It was an odd paradox for Jarmok as he and the Arch-Duke followed the streets of Kurr. The lean outlander had felt so caged within the great walls that he had slept within, one would think that once outside of those walls he would have been more comfortable. But he wasn't. He was uncomfortable in a different way.

Where through the night he had felt much like a trapped and caged animal, in the streets he felt surrounded, even though at this time of the morning there were relatively few people about. He felt that around any corner there might be some lurking presence that he would rather avoid. Was there danger there? If there was, and he was forced to defend himself, who would be the criminal?

He had no foundation for such anxiety - none that he was aware of, at any rate - but it was there nonetheless: that unshakable conviction that no matter what might happen, he, the outlander, would be scapegoated in favor of a local face.

Soon the western gate came into view. Jarmok noted that Corwynn seemed as though some painful thoughts were crossing his mind as they shared an side-long glance, each ensuring the other was still in company.

As they approached the contingent of guards who were undergoing a stern inspection, Jarmok fell a bit behind the Arch-Duke. In part because this is what many who were in service to the Arch-Duke had done last night, but in greater part that he might not be a focal point.

The lovely red-headed lass in charge of the guard appeared to be in play with the Arch-Duke; it was clear that the father and daughter had played these games for a long while. At length, the inevitable happened, as Jarmok knew that it must: the Arch-Duke made note of Jarmok to Bridget, and Bridget instantly greeted Jarmok.

Jarmok stepped forward, bobbing his head in what had long since become an ingrained response. He grasped the outstretched hand firmly, as Kymberly had suggested he should. "Am good meet, thank." Jarmok replied. "Maybe if can, good talk." He agreed with her. He nodded and smiled his clumsy smile, but he was all too aware that the gate loomed so close and yet so far.

Bridget, bless her, obviously noted his preoccupation and withdrew, telling her father to be off.

When Corwynn asked whether Jarmok was ready to run, Jarmok himself had already taken a step or two towards the gates. He held up at Corwynn's question, however, and grunted his assent. "Hgruh." His legs were itching to burn.

Corwynn, still mounted on Fionndougal, patted his large steed on the neck and asked him, “It’s been a while my friend...I pray you’ve not forgotten how to charge? Come Jarmok, let us run!” The horse reared up and whinnied- though Jarmok with his acute hearing may have also heard the low notes of a growl- kicking it’s front legs with a wild look in his eye. The Duke raised his fist and shouted a “Hyah!” and charged through the gate hoping that Jarmok took the cue.

The garrison of soldiers that were in the square under inspection by Bridget all admitted their awe. Some with gasps, others with an exclaimation, and still others with a primal scream. Already running full tilt and through the gate, Jarmok could hear the girl-warrior administering her discipline on the outspoken soldiers. From the sounds of it, they were now in for a rough day.

Upon exiting the gate Jarmok could immediately see the farmland that supported the city. It looked so very much like Little Threshold with the open fields, barns, and hamlets of houses that it almost seemed that they were, in fact, there. The road they traveled westward was lined with majestic trees with boughs that brushed the ground. They were a bit back from the road which allowed them to stretch without encroaching on the road itself. The leaves were reaching their dark summer green and with branches unhindered by pruning, the trees were full and round like Istisha shining every month. The trunks of the trees were thick and knobbed betraying their age. They would make for good climbing trees if Jarmok ever had to scout from them for any particular reason.

Corwynn wasn’t pushing Fionndougal to his potential for fear of getting too far ahead of his guest. He glanced back to see that Jarmok was not at all far behind and was shocked to find him closer than he expected! This unusual ranger had again surprised him despite previously seeing that he had some speed about him. Laughing with his astonishment the Duke quickened the steeds pace to see how far he could push the ranger. Also the Duke was hungry and the food was only getting cold.

Jarmok fancied that the smell of the air changed for the better within but a few paces of exiting the gate. It may have been that the scene that opened so agreeably before his eyes helped to change the air in his nose, and it may also have been that the flavor of the land - so much like Little Threshold - also made the air sweeter. Whatever the case, he felt free again, and freedom smelled uniquely sweet among all other smells.

He ran for all he was worth. He was, of course no match for a magnificent warhorse like this Fionndougal in speed. At full run, in fact, he was no match for any horse, but as the Arch Duke and his great steed pulled further away from Jarmok, the lean ranger felt nothing so much as exhilaration in the run. There was no fear that he might lose track of Corwynn and Fionndougal - the two galloped a roughly straight line, leaving the curves of the road here and there, and they left a swath in the summer grasses that even the untrained could follow. Not to mention both horse and rider were laughing loudly, each in their own way.

It was also Jarmok's experience that he could run much longer than any horse could. It just didn't matter how far ahead they got...Jarmok would find them.

Jarmok was finally relaxed; the combination of being out of that huge cage of a city and the run purged his body of its tension. Here, it was him and the run, and he had only Kossuth to best.

Fionndougal charged as though he was a lightning bolt sent to the ground by Paladine itself. It had been a long while since the stallion had the chance to express what he knew was his birthright magnificence.

Corwynn laughed uncontrollably at his steed. He understood the horse had an ego that was barely tamed. Not tamed he thought better, rather the horse was simply well behaved. He came to understand that the anxiety his horse felt always being in the city must be kindred to Jarmok’s. Jarmok! The Duke looked back to see that Jarmok was back a distance running at his own swift pace. There really was nothing quite like the freedom of the open road with infinite possibilities ahead of you Corwynn thought.

Figuring that Jarmok was more than capable of locating the trail of the spirited horse, Corwynn pushed the steed on. It was shortly thereafter that the city clearing submitted to the natural forest and the Duke found himself racing on the road under a thick canopy of trees. It was a well worn road that led directly to one of Kurr’s two sister cities, New Jarla- the once center of the now extinct kingdom of Vychia. New Jarla still held an aged but noble majesty about it as an elder would have among his grown children. The other city, Aldebaron, rest further east towards Kazbourne. The three great cities made up the Tri State of Vychia and while not the epicenter of the City State Alliance still commanded a respect akin to the kingdom of old.

The tunnel of leaves that shrouded the road made it almost hard to see. Kossuth, it seemed, was being a lazy deity this particular morning. The Duke knew well enough that it was his own perception of the morning and that nothing odd was actually happening with the morning light. The shadows were dark enough to almost obscure the entrance columns that led to their destination. By this time Corwynn had relaxed the gallop of the mighty destrier despite the protest and eagerness of the horse to continue at full stride. He stopped briefly at the ornamented stone columns that were topped with detailed carvings of howling wolves and wondered if he should wait for the sprinting ranger. With a wry smile he coaxed Fionndougal down the well worn trail.

Jarmok settled down a bit after a handful of stades; his giddiness matured into a more dignified joy and his inner self merged with the lands that would within the hand begin to wake.

He followed the Arch Duke and his magnificent steed through the dark of the night, which was deepened as the road led them in amongst the canopy of the trees. While Jarmok's eyes were as keen as any, he followed his escort by ear for the most part. It was clear to Jarmok when Corwynn reigned Fionndougal, though the lean ranger could not see them. He heard quite clearly that Fionndougal argued with Corwynn a bit, not begging (for begging was beneath him); the horse was more admonishing Corwynn for imposing his human will upon Fionndougal.

Jarmok couldn't be sure why that brief argument ended, but he knew how it ended - horse and rider continued along - departing the road - at a slower pace than they had taken to get across the short span of open plain. They proceeded along somewhat softer ground at a brisk trot rather than the sprint they had used on the harder road.

Jarmok followed the two companions at his own pace, now gaining on the horse and his Arch Duke.

Corwynn and Fionndougal traversed the trail quickly and came upon a clearing at the large lakes edge. Ahead of him was a modest hamlet built on the lake’s shore. It had a handful of buildings with a small stone keep only a few stories high. On the shore of the lake were at least twice as many boats as buildings betraying what the prime trade was in this little village. With the sky brightening it was easier to see the cultivated fields that enveloped the village and already the roosters were crowing about the new day.

“My friend…” Corwynn said to his steed, “We do not come here nearly often enough.” The horse sneezed in response. “Not the answer I expected but neither does it surprise me.” He mused.

The duke dismounted and began to walk towards the cozy community Fionndougal walking with him- not behind or ahead. Looking towards the tower he could see two guards manning the top as he anticipated. The worn road split as they approached. One road went towards the hamlet proper and the other banked to the left away from the community. The duke walked to the left.

After a very short while and a jaunt out of the village clearing and through the wooded road Corwynn came upon a cabin on the lakes shore. The cabin was nothing fancy but it did have a dock accompanied by a boat that bumped the dock with every calm wave. The duke encouraged the destrier to eat his fill of sweet clovers that grew on what land was cleared for the cabin but not before he grabbed the sack of food that he brought from Kurr.

Before too long, Corwynn had a fire blazing in the cabins fire pit.

(OOC. The cabin looks very much like the rural cabins in Threshold’s highland areas- like Jarmok’s/Mercer’s cabin)

When Jarmok realized that the Arch-Duke was headed towards a populated location he quieted his equipment and his tread, though he slowed down but a little.

He was happy to see that his two companions veered off to the road, and didn't just proceed into the little village. Jarmok followed the path that led more southerly, as Corwyyn and Fionndougal had; it wasn't a long path before he came upon the small lakeside cabin and it's merry fire, which was but a few minutes old at that point, that made Jarmok feel like he was coming home...if it wasn't for the vast lake just to the west.

Fionndougal, searching through the grasses for the most acceptable shoots and clovers, grunted as Jarmok approached, and Jarmok grunted his greeting in turn. Before approaching the young fire and its attendant, Jarmok walked wide around the fire to be sure that Corwynn knew of the outlander's arrival before he approached.